La Ville Lumière
by Audeamus-Amor
Summary: COMPLETE: Inspired by the Before Sunrise/Before Sunset films, Bella and Edward meet in Paris. With only 12 hours left in a city made for lovers, how will they fare? Rated M for My God, I can't believe I wrote a Lemon. AU, AH, ExB, THREE-Shot.
1. Part I

……………………**..**

**BellaPOV**

I didn't want to look like just another tourist, but the billowing clouds of smoke were making that seem like an impossible task.

It wasn't that I was particularly averse to smoking- quite the opposite in fact. While I was in Paris I actually kind of enjoyed the occasional cigarette, but the close confines of the low-ceilinged café, coupled with the vibrating mass of cologned and perfumed bodies was making oxygen the scarcest good in the room. Discretely, so as not to offend the locals, I picked the cloth napkin up off of my lap and attempted the smallest cough I could muster.

"Je suis désolé," I apologized lamely.

Mission failed, the perfectly chic yet gamine Parisienne at the neighboring table glared at me. With the sniffling upturn of her gallic nose and the whip of her perfectly windswept chignon, I knew the offending action marked me as foreign. And not foreign in the non-Western, charming way that the Parisians seemed to simultaneously loathe and welcome, but foreign in the American way. The irritating way.

I give an apologetic smile to the back of her head as I folded my napkin into a square on the table. I didn't the resent the girl. Her typically French behavior was something I had come to expect from the moment my backpacked figure came tumbling out of the Gare du Nord station, hopelessly lost, when my very mediocre French had failed me.

I found that after a word or two in even the most butchered attempt at their language, nearly everyone I met was more than willing to point the daring, solo-traveling American girl in the right direction. In fact, the young men of Paris were particularly charitable, if not a little forward. I found it charming though, an adventure is what I was after, even if I didn't completely succeed in finding one.

I tossed a 20 Euro note onto the quintessentially French café table, taking a long second to appreciate the worn, pressed steel that circled the impossibly small thing. How two people could share such a table when I could barely eat on it by myself was beyond my comprehension. It was just another 'cultural difference' that made me appreciate the French that much more.

"Putain de merde! Va te faire foutre!"

"Arrêt, Sophie! S'il te plaît… "

The mulling room quieted for a split-second as every head in the café shot to the booth in the back corner. A beautiful blond looked livid, a full glass of tepid water clasped threateningly in her hand ready to be thrown, I surmised, from the colorful language being exchanged between the two. Lover's quarrel. I bit back a smile. _How typically Paris._

"Brûle dans l'enfer!" the girl yelled, much to the chagrin and fascination of everyone in the restaurant.

Dinner and a show? A bargain at half the price.

The man got up, trying to quiet her again, but she was past her breaking point. The poised water glass was quickly emptied as she thrust it toward him with an artful flick of her wrist. She looked as if she had done it before. She stormed off in the direction of the bathroom, and the room quieted again, the spat already forgotton as the patrons went back to their discussions of post-modernist philosophy or Carla Bruni's latest faux paux.

I got up, the outburst at the once picturesque booth in the back corner acting as my cue to leave. I was tired of watching. It was my last night in Paris, a measly 12 hours, and I knew I had spent too much of this trip as a spectator. I wanted my last hours here to be felt, really _lived_.

I squeezed past the impossibly narrow rows between the tables, turning periodically when faced with the decision of which people seemed more appropriate to have my backside to or vice-versa. It was something that always made me wildly uncomfortable when in close quarters, putting my rear end near someone's face as I shuffled past, no matter which way I did it, it seemed always to lack dignity.

"Pardon," I said shuffling past one man.

"Excusez-moi," I muttered, stepping around another.

"Je suis désolé," I said with a scant, escaping breath, bumping into the chest of a particularly leery man.

He placed his hands on my sides, steadying me, and I cursed my characteristically bad balance. He smiled at me for a little too long, his hands still on me as I pushed away from his chest. I gave him another apologetic smile as I passed, quickening my step to burst through the heavy door just behind him.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle!" I heard him call after me, just as the door swung shut.

I leaned against the bit of wall just alongside the door, taking a few breaths of the new air, a mixture of the most delicious foodsmells tainted with just the lightest hint of exhaust, quite charming actually. The crispness of the air had me suddenly wanting a cigarette, odd considering I had only just escaped the clutches of the smoky room. I felt around in my jacket pocket, knowing I had a nearly finished pack somewhere.

_I might as well have one_, I thought, _there's no way I'm going back to the States with a smoking habit._

I found the pack of Malboro Ultra Lights in my inside pocket.

"Ha!" I said quietly to myself, though still triumphant, "Now where's that damn lighter?"

I mumbled as I patted myself down, my chin in my chest and a cigarette between my lips as I tried to work my fingers into the too-tight buttonholes of my side pockets. A lit butt appeared just in front of my nose, the glowing heat of the embers close enough that I immediately recoiled.

I stumbled backward, into the wall, and my head shot up. My eyes went slightly wide at the striking man in front of me.

"Sorry," he said, his green eyes crinkling just barely with a smile, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Y-y-you're American," I stammered, toying with the hem of my sleeves as the white of the cigarette bobbed before my eyes with every syllable, feeling embarrassed immediately at such an elementary and superficial observation.

He nodded, still smiling and still holding out his lit cigarette," So are you."

I nodded dumbly in response, too immersed in the infinite green-hazel of his eyes to wonder how he knew.

"Now where's that damn lighter?" he said, mimicking my earlier self-directed question, "I just used my last match, but here…"

He stretched his hand out just a little further, offering the lit cigarette to me again.

"Um… I…"

I stammered again, taking the cigarette out of my mouth, not knowing what to say.

"I don't usually smoke!" I burst out for no reason, "It's a vacation thing…" I said almost apologetically.

He raised an eyebrow at me, questioning and simultaneously amused.

"Okaaaaay," he said slowly, "Well, neither do I."

My brow furrowed, disbelieving, "Really?"

He laughed, "Yes, really. I go back tomorrow as a matter of fact! So I might as well finish this last pack, right?"

He seemed slightly offended, though still amused, at my immediate reluctance to believe his words, probably undue when I expected him to easily accept mine.

"Me too," I agreed, my words slightly slurred around the cigarette I had just replaced between my lips, "I go back tomorrow too."

He gave me another appraising look, his eyes traveling up my body just once, tauntingly slow. My insides squelched at the obvious insinuation in the look and I cleared my throat to stop him, playing the part of the good girl. He gave me another dazzling smile before he took steps forward, his chest nearly touching mind. My breath faltered as his fingertips came dangerously close to my lips, his earthy smell and just a hint of cologne mingling pleasantly in the air around me. He plucked the cigarette from my mouth and I licked my lips unconsciously the moment he pulled it away.

He smiled at me again, reassuring yet burning with his easily won intensity. It probably came naturally to him, that smoldering look, it was a mainstay of all men that looked the way he did; it was like the membership card to the club. He moved to place my unlit cigarette between his lips and I opened my mouth to protest, but when he gave me a challenging 'tut' I quickly quieted. He touched the cherry to the end, his deliciously full lips closing around the cigarette that had only just been in my mouth, and inhaled… Sexily. I didn't know that breathing could be sexy, but watching the way his eyelashes fluttered just barely as he inhaled and the sound of the softest moan rumbling from his throat as he exhaled confirmed it. Breathing could be sexy. Almost painfully sexy. He offered it to me and I took it, his fingers brushing against mine.

"But it's been in your mouth," I complained lamely, only half a protest, bouncing just slightly on the balls of my feet.

He waived away my feigned objection and came to lean into the wall at my side, leaving a comfortable amount of space between us. I fingered the suddenly foreign object between my middle and index finger, eyeing it to keep myself from looking at him. I swallowed, seeing him bustle in my peripheral vision; he was waiting to see if I would be so daring as to share DNA with a man I barely knew. Shrugging my shoulders and not wanting to look the bumbling mass of nerves that I felt, I lifted it to my lips and took in a deep drag, my own eyelids closing at the familiar sensation of the taste.

He swallowed loudly and I smiled to myself. Apparently I wasn't the only one who might find the simple act of breathing sexy. I turned to him, keeping my shoulder against the wall, feeling suddenly emboldened. I flicked the ash off the tip of my cigarette, flecks of black and white fluttering through invisible tunnels in the air.

He spoke before I could.

"You make it look good," he said simply.

Was he flirting with me just to avoid all things awkward? I couldn't say he was. I thought it might be genuine. The potential of my last night in Paris resulted in an extra ten minutes of hair and makeup and a particularly luxurious ensemble. I took a moment's pause to think of a flirty repartee, but stopped when I noticed the water spots on his shirt.

It wasn't raining.

"YOU!" I pointed at him, bursting with sudden laughter, pushing myself off the wall, "You're the asshole from inside!"

His cheeks reddened at my accusation, his swagger disappearing before my eyes, the smoldering look fizzling into obvious embarrassment. He rolled the loose gravel under the heel of his boot, opting not to make eye contact.

I stepped toward him, pulling at his still wet shirt with my thumb and forefinger, my laughter doubling over as it sucked itself to his chest, refusing to part with his skin.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" I questioned playfully, poking at his chest with each question.

He pushed my hands away playfully, groaning, "Okay... YES! Fine, it was me…Are you happy?"

I sighed, falling back into my place beside him, looking into the nearly deserted Rue du Faubourg St. Antoine.

"Yes," I admitted, "it was _quite_ amusing. Lover's quarrel?"

"Hardly," he said, taking a shallow hit on his cigarette, "The exact opposite actually."

"Suuuuure," I said sarcastically, "Because women love to throw water into the faces of their… _non-lovers._"

"I swear," he chuckled, "She just wasn't happy that I didn't tell her I was leaving tomorrow. But I only just met her this afternoon!"

"Uhhhh huh."

"No really! I saw her sitting in the gardens at the Musée Rodin. How was I supposed to know that the blank stare was actually empty and not pensive?"

"Mmmm hmmm…"

"I haven't even kissed her!"

"Sure thing. I'm sure you're just a perfect angel," I drolled, "I'm sure that whole 'lighting the cigarette' and 'smoldering look' was just a one-time thing too, right?"

"Actually, that's exactly right."

"I'm sure you're just starving for company aren't you?" I laughed, "Poor lonely boy," I teased, mock-pouting at him.

His eyes went suddenly serious, even a little sad. "A person could be in the company of a hundred people and still be lonely. Physical companionship and emotional fulfillment aren't the same thing. Only in love are the two in collusion."

At that moment a cab pulled up, the driver rolling down the passenger side window and yelling out in heavily accented French.

"Well," he said suddenly, pushing off the wall, "that's me."

"Of course it is," I sighed.

"It was a pleasure," he said, bowing dramatically, his eyes never leaving mine.

I smiled brightly at him, savoring the moment. He would be nothing more than an anecdote in the stories I told back home, a flash of a memory between the lawns of the Sacré-Cœur and the stained glass windows of La Saint-Chapelle, and somehow I knew it would be enough.

"Likewise."

He flicked the last of his cigarette into the curb, not caring to stomp out the glowing embers. He climbed in, giving me one last look through the open window before the cab took off. I watched him drive away, my eyes locked on his. Taking my last drag, I gave him an uncharacteristically flirtatious wink before turning to the other direction. I sighed, walking under the light of bright shop fronts and peering through archways into pastoral courtyards as I passed. _I love Paris._

The sound of screeching tires stopped me just as I turned the corner.

"Hey!"

I slowed, knowing that just beyond that corner was the promise for a safe haven. I had the urge to run, to just keep going, to disappear. It would have been the safer choice, the sure thing. A night in Paris, one last night, walking the streets I would miss the most…by myself.

"Miss! Wait!"

I turned around, my decision still unmade.

"Yeah?" I called back, stopped in my spot.

"Come with me!" he called, his eyes shining with the promise of an adventure.

"I don't even know you!" I yelled, ignoring the confused looks of an elderly couple as they stepped around me on the street.

"Well," he carried on, not missing a beat, "Get to know me!"

His boyish enthusiasm was impossible to ignore, the glint in his eye more charming than anything he had pulled out thus far. Looking at him, I knew the night would be anything but boring, the opposite of safe. 18 years of careful, self-imposed maturity was protesting somewhere inside of me. _No! Don't do it! _I shook my head at him, just barely, refusing his invitation, agreeing with the voices in my head. He was leaning out, his upper body hanging over the edge of the window.

He pouted at me playfully and shrugged, "Please?"

I took a step toward him and stopped. _Don't do it._ _**Do it**__. Don't do it. __**Do it!**_ I teetered on my feet, my teeth worrying my bottom lip, my hand clenching and unclenching into fists at my side. Everything about him screamed reckless, screamed playboy, and while I knew that I probably shouldn't have, I took a step forward…. Then backward…Another two steps forward… And another… And finally, I broke into a run…

I knew what I needed …

…And what I needed was an adventure.

……………………………**.**

**EdwardPOV**

_The pout worked?! There's no way the pout worked! _ I suppressed the desire to pound my chest or yell in triumph, but the fact that she was running toward me filled me with such an overwhelming sense of victory that the more primal urges of male preening came surging to the surface. And it wasn't just her overwhelming beauty either. No, it was more than that. It was the way her mood changed faster than I could keep up: Happy. Shy. Playful. Pensive. Nervous. Innocent. Bold. I wanted so badly to understand what caused each change; I wanted so badly to be the reason for it.

She was nearly at the car and I could see the flush of her cheeks. The short, labored puffs of her exerted breath caused her chest to rise and fall against the tight bodice of her dress and I knew that I wanted her impossibly. But I wouldn't push the boundaries this night. No, for our last night in Paris, I would be a gentleman. I didn't know her, but I knew she deserved that. _Besides, _I reasoned with myself, _you're getting ahead of yourself. No expectations._

I opened the door and our eyes met, each of us slightly delirious with the possibility of the night. She leaned her forearm against the frame of the open door, taking a moment to catch her breath, her lips breaking into a grin over her perfectly white teeth.

"Well?" she demanded, leaning her forehead onto her arm, "What now?"

"I don't know," I said honestly, I hadn't really thought of what would happen if she agreed. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know either," she said laughing softly, pulling away from the frame of the door.

"Get in!" I exclaimed, a little too eagerly, worried she might already be changing her mind.

She smiled a knowing, secret smile and scooted in next to me, shutting the door behind her.

"Paris," she said with finality. "All of it, any part of it, I want to see as much of it as I can."

She said it with such a completely authentic sense of wonder that I had no choice but to please her.

"Paris," I agreed, knowing that her request would be far more difficult than it sounded.

I looked at my watch, _8:17pm. _Perfect.

I shuffled forward to speak to the driver.

"Le Centre Pompidou, s'il vous plaît."

"The modern museum?" she asked surprised as I settled in next to her. "That's your choice?"

"So?"

She shook her head, "Nothing. I just didn't think that was what you would pick…"

I bristled uncomfortably at the ever-so-slightly patronizing tone.

"And what did you think I would pick?" I asked as the driver took off.

"An after hours place? A club? An underground casino? Maybe even a brothel…"

I laughed, her teasing toeing the line between the absurd and the feasible.

"Oh, there's time for that yet…"

"Really? I have an 8am flight, you know."

As I watched the intricacies of Paris' architecture come alive under the glare of our headlights as we passed, I felt suddenly nostalgic for the city I wanted so badly to fall in love with.

"Like I said," I murmured turning to her, noticing the flecks of gold in her deep brown eyes for the first time, "All the time in the word...."

………………………………………**..**

**BellaPOV**

We sat in amicable silence, each of us leaning into our respective windows, each of us lost in our own thoughts, trying to memorize different sides of the same street. Just beyond the row of shop fronts that flashed past my eyes I noticed the beginning of the Périphérique, the suburbs. _Odd, that was the opposite direction of where we should have been heading. _

I looked into the rearview mirror and caught the cab driver staring at me just before he quickly looked away. _Hmmm._

I scooted into the middle of the seat, my shoulder touching his.

"Psst," I whispered to him, trying to get his attention though he seemed lost in the scenery.

"Psst, _hey,_" I tried again, pulling at his sleeve this time.

"Oh sorry," he apologized, leaning into me. "I was wra-"

"I think this guy is taking us for a ride," I mumbled into his ear.

"Well," he said, "I think that's the point…"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes! Thank you. I meant _taking us for a ride_."

I said it in a bad-movie voice, but he did me the service of looking around anyway.

"Wow. Where are we?"

"Exactly!" I hissed, wagging my eyebrows, "_Taking us for a ride_…."

"Would you stop saying it like that?" he groaned, "It's making it worse."

He laughed at the look on my face, not seeming to care too much about the cabbie that was trying to rip us off. He turned back into the window, continuing to soak in the details of the picturesque street.

"Hey!" I said again, "Aren't you going to say something?"

He faced me, a crooked smirk on his lips. "Why? You said you wanted to see Paris. All of it. He'll get us there eventually…"

"Eventually?!" I stage-whispered, ignoring the way the driver turned his head to us, just slightly.

"Yes" he said, "Eventually."

"We're practically in the Banlieue! This is going to be a 50 Euro cab ride, you know…"

His eyebrow raised just slightly.

"Hmm, you're probably right," he agreed, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket, "I better make sure I have enough for a tip."

"A tip?!" I remarked incredulously. _Was he kidding?_

"It would be rude _not_ to leave one…"

"He's trying to rip us off!"

He laughed, fingering through the bills in his wallet, "Well… We might not have to worry about that… I thought I had more in here."

The two of us leaned into the middle of the seat, each of us trying to get a look at fare-ticker in the front console.

_36.25… 36.75…37.25…._

We seemed to be circling back into the direction of the city center, I saw the vast courtyard of Les Halles just ahead of us; we were nearly there.

"Well… It's too late now!" I hissed, fumbling through my purse for the loose bills I had stashed there, opting earlier to forego my usual monstrosity of a wallet, "How much do you have?"

"No," he said, stilling my fumbling hands over the fabric of my purse. "I've got it."

"What do you mean you've got it? Do you have enough?"

"Well… not exactly…"

"Then let me pay my—" I stopped; realizing that my purse was empty save for my hotel key and a pot of lip gloss. "What the hell?"

"What? Is something wrong?"

"I had money in here!" I exclaimed, turning my purse upside down. "100 Euros. It's gone."

"You lost your wallet? Your passport?" he asked, the smallest sign of distress evident in his voice for the first time all night.

"No! I left those at my hotel, but I brought some cash… Where is it?" I asked myself, feeling around all of the corners in my now empty bag.

He laughed a booming laugh. He leaned into me, whispering, "I guess we're just going to have to make a break for it then."

"What?!" I yelled, too loudly, the cab driver looking at us suspiciously.

"I only have 20 Euros in my wallet, and while I'm sure he wouldn't mind waiting while I hit up the ATM, you said yourself that he was trying to rip us off…"

"Yes, I did say that, but—"

"But what? You don't have any cash and I don't have enough… When he stops, get ready to run."

"NO way! There's no way!"

"You're going to have to do it, Pretty Girl. Otherwise, you're going to have to be left here all by your lonesome, 'cause I'm bookin' it."

"Okay, wait a second… We can stop at an ATM, we can even go back to my hotel room to get some cash!"

He raised an eyebrow at the word 'hotel room', but I was too panicked to scold him.

"Get ready…" he said mischievously, the cab slowing in front of the vast courtyard that was off-limit to vehicles, "Run to your right…"

"What?! No, please! Just wait…"

"GO!" he yelled, throwing open his door and flinging the 20 Euro note into the front seat just as soon as the cab rolled to a stop.

I squeaked as I let my flight instinct take over, heaving open my door and running to my right through the empty courtyard just as he told me to. I heard the faint sounds of the driver yelling swear words at us and looked back, just for a second, to see him shaking his fist at us from outside of the cab. He ran a few yards, but the results of his sedentary lifestyle quickly made it a failed pursuit.

I increased my pace, the minimalist scaffolding and the signature primary colored tubes of piping snaking through the front of the Centre Georges Pompidou signaling the location of our safe haven.

"Over here!" he called, waving me forward to an open door partially obscured by a contemporary work of art – a concrete slab topped with a comically large metallic gold pot.

I slipped in under his arm, collapsing immediately into his chest, laughing hysterically, the rush of adrenaline leaving my body a ball of quivering nerves. I gasped for air, doubled over and clutching my stomach, tears building in my eyes from the rolling giggles that seemed to have no end in sight. I tried to straighten, find my breath, but the thought of the irate cabbie flashed in my mind and my laughter came again in a renewed effort. I quieted, a few moments later, only after I realized I was the only one laughing.

He was staring at me, his eyes wide, a mixture of awe and arousal that was impossible to deny. I realized that I was still in his arms, pressed against his chest, our bodies touching in the most intimate places. I wiggled out of his grasp, apologizing.

"Sorry," I said mumbling, my cheeks flushing pink for an entirely new reason. "It's just he was so… _angry._"

I giggled softly again, brushing the pads of my fingertips into my dewy cheeks, then waving at them with open hands. My body was still tingling with the happy mix of warmth and adrenaline.

"So…" he said, tearing his eyes away from me, seemingly reluctant.

"The bastion of Modern Art in Paris," he said grandly, a sweeping flourish of his arm to match, "What do you think?"

I took a look around for the first time, actually noticing the vastness of the white marble grand room, banners with all sorts of abstract pictures and bright colors hanging from the exposed industrial rafters, neon signs of numbers and arrows taking the space that they had not. Glowing orbs of white glass hung sporadically all around the room; light-fixtures as art; it was as modern as could be. I decided that I liked it, even if I didn't completely understand it.

I smiled at him and nodded.

I noticed a mulling mass of bodies waiting in line to enter the museum. Against the stark contrast of the windowed walls the darkness looked suddenly out of place.

"Wait… Isn't the museum supposed to be closed?"

"Ahh…" he said playfully, "You noticed that."

"Well… yeah?"

"Tonight is the Nuit des Musées."

"Okay?"

He motioned me toward the queue of people, talking as he walked. "Once in a while, some of the museums stay open late, usually until 1am, sometimes later…"

"Oh!" I said excitedly, "Cool."

"Yes," he agreed, "Very cool. And _free_."

He smiled at me teasingly, "So you won't have to worry about that not having any money thing, not that I thought of that when I decided that we were coming, it just turned out to be a happy coincidence…"

"Really though, I swear I put money in here…"

I turned, patting the purse that hung loosely at my side, half open.

"Well, if you've been carrying it like that the entire time you've been here, it's a small miracle that you haven't been pick-pocketed already. They usually just pretend to bump into you and are gone before you even know it…"

I gasped in realization, "This creepy dude bumped into me at the café!"

He nodded, "Well, there you go."

"Ugh!" I groaned, feeling duped, "Well this is totally all your fault then!"

"My fault? How so?"

"Well, I wouldn't have gotten up to leave if it wasn't for your little display in the back!" I said accusing him playfully.

He shuffled forward, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, "I was that irritating, huh? I'm sorry I ruined your dinner…"

"No!" I disagreed, feeling bad for him, "It wasn't that… It just made me want to…I was just tired of watching things and not really living them…"

"So do you want to throw a glass of water at me too?" he questioned, perking up just slightly.

I laughed, "No, I don't think I want that either."

"Then what _do_ you want?" he said, his voice suddenly serious as the smoldering intensity in his eyes returned.

"I don't know what I want… But I think I just want to really live, you know? I want everything that life has to offer. I want the world, and not just the parts I can see," I said it breathlessly, the longing in my voice wistful even to my own ears. I frowned, "Does that make any sense?"

"Yes, Pretty Girl," he said using the name he had in the cab as we shuffled forward together, our steps totally in sync, "It makes perfect sense."

……………………………………**.**

**EdwardPOV**

We walked through the exhibits in our own private world, the pauses in conversation came only when we felt the need to comment –or mock – the occasionally intriguing piece. She talked about her childhood in Phoenix and a flighty but loveable Mom. Her voice was thick with fondness and a touch of sadness when she described her life in a small town with a lonely, but virtuous father. The only similarity of the two, it seemed, was the affection she held for them both. The character of her observations changed as rapidly as her demeanor: Mature. Amused. Reverent. Hopeful.

I wanted to let her enjoy the art, she seemed to like it, but I couldn't bear the silencing of her voice. I threw her question after question, plowing through answers when she asked me the same. We talked about music and our experiences in travel. She was backpacking alone, but it was more out of her own desire than her inability to find a willing companion. She had friends, good ones, the kind Angela and the playful Jacob being the two she seemed most fond of. And she was sure to point out that Jacob was just that – a friend. She was single, she admitted to me softly, her innocence a refreshing change from the tarts and bimbos that usually approached me. She was sans romance… sans attachment.

We walked through gallery after gallery for hours, talking and laughing, sharing our most embarrassing experiences and, briefly, our desires for the future. She wasn't sure what she wanted and I admitted, neither was I. We both shared a wide-eyed moment of panic at the coming unknown, the precipice of childhood and an adult life, college looming in the near future for both of us. It was only after I noticed that we were nearly alone in the cavernous rooms, our only company the oversized pieces of furniture lumped together as modern art, that I realized it was nearly1 am.

"We have to go," I said sadly just as the final announcements came over the museum's loud speaker. "They're closing soon."

"Time's up?" she said, her eyes mirroring the sadness in mine. "Time to go home?"

"No," I said shaking my head, looking at my watch "Not home just yet. We still have… 7 hours and 13 minutes, right?"

"All the time in the world," she said, taking her turn to mimic my earlier words as her eyes brightened, pulling at the invisible strings in my heart.

I chuckled, trying to keep the conversation light though I knew that I was drowning in this.

"It's about time you caught on…"

……………………………………

**A/N: Yes, I know that the Nuit des Musées is in May, but they have other museum nights throughout the year… But I couldn't remember if the Centre Georges Pompidou did those too…**

**Read and Review? I'm already done writing this thing. I think.**


	2. Part II

**BellaPOV**

"Come on!" he rushed me. "We're here!"

He had run ahead of me, just a little, as we navigated through the empty walkways along the Seine.

"Where's here?" I called after him, jogging to catch up, not wanting to be too far from him on the slightly eerie path.

"Here," he said in an announcer's voice, hopping effortlessly onto a raised ledge, "Is Paris!'

I looked up, my heart quickening at the glowing lights of Paris' most famous monument. It was oddly still, just yellow lights illuminating the crisscrossing scaffolding base to tip. I had only ever seen it at night when it was sparkling with that campy lightshow. I liked it better this way, simple, lit from somewhere within.

"Wow," I breathed. "It somehow looks… _better._"

"I know," he agreed, pausing for a long moment as I came to stand beside him.

We stared at her from the distance, the clopping noises of the water breaking against the concrete confines of the river. I craned my neck upward, trying to make out the details on the viewing tower at the top.

"I've never been up there, you know," I said, pulling us both out of our silent admiration. "I've been here for nearly three weeks and I've never had the chance to get to the top."

He nodded his head, his eyes seeming to look for the same invisible landing that mine were. I saw him turn to me, but I couldn't look away. I wanted to remember her exactly like this, serene, no hustle and bustle of tourists to make the experience less authentic, the Eiffel Tower backlit against a tapestry of the rare Parisian stars.

He sighed, his eyes traveling to my face, "Next time."

I nodded, turning my eyes to him though I my face remained skyward.

"Yeah, next time."

……………………………

**EdwardPOV**

"Are you sure about this?" she asked worriedly for the hundredth time, slipping her shoe off slowly as she sat perched at the fountain's edge.

"Yes!" I reassured her, looking around the Place de la Concorde once more to placate her. "There's nobody here… And besides, I don't think it's completely illegal."

"You 'don't think it's _completely_ illegal'?" she hissed, slipping her shoe back on and standing up, "Na uh… No way. You do it. I'll take _your_ picture."

She struggled against me, standing on her tiptoes, trying to grab the thin camera I held, unreachable, above her head.

"Come on! You already agreed!"

"Yeah," she snorted. "That was before I knew that it might be illegal!"

She grabbed the sleeve of my shirt, trying to pull my arm down, but she was lacking in upper body strength, even for a girl.

"Please?" I said pouting, thinking it might work for a second time that night.

She let her arms fall to the side dramatically, striding purposefully back to the fountain's edge, "FINE."

She threw off her shoes unceremoniously, and in a single motion, hiked up her skirt though it hung just at her knees. She hopped in wading through the water, just out of the way from the arching jets of water.

"Hurry up!" she said, turning around quickly, "Take the picture!"

"Okay… 1….2… 3…."

The popping flash of the shutter sounded and I only had a moment to admire her coquettish smile through the viewer before it disappeared on her lips. Her eyes went wide as she pointed above my shoulder.

"RUN!" she yelled, scrambling out of the fountain; the movement looking incredibly misplaced against the delicate intricacies of the 16th century masterpiece.

"What?" I questioned, turning around. "Why?"

She was already long gone as I spotted what had caused such a rapid change in the peaceful silence of the abandoned courtyard. Just next to the granite obelisk that stood 75 feet high on the other end of a plaza was a very big, and very angry, security guard running toward me. I barely had time to shove the camera into my back pocket and scoop up her forgotten shoes before I ran into the direction that she had disappeared to.

"Shit!" I yelled, her tinkling laughter echoing immediately after, somewhere in the hidden distance.

I smiled as I ran, trying to follow the sound of her voice, knowing that despite two brushes with authority, I would follow that laugh anywhere; I would follow that laugh to the end of the world and back. As I looked around, the monuments of centuries long forgotten blurring past my eyes, I knew that at the end of the world is exactly where I was… And I was happy that I was here - happier still that I was here with her.

…………………………………………

**BellaPOV**

"I think you can stop running now!" he yelled from somewhere behind me, quickly catching up.

"Right! That's the last time that I'm taking your advice, Mister! Twice in one night I've had to run for my life!"

"Run for your life?" he laughed, his breathing slightly labored. "I hardly count an obese taxi driver and an 80 year old man as threats to your safety!"

I stopped and whipped around to glare at him, but the smile refused to leave. I had smiled and laughed more with him in one night than I had in all of my solitary weeks in Paris.

"Fine," I placated him. "I'll stop running."

He was already at my side as I finished the words. He opened his mouth, surely some witty quip or comment ready on his tongue, but the growling of my stomach interrupted him.

He raised an eyebrow, "Hungry?"

"No," I said shaking my head, my empty purse suddenly manifesting itself as hunger pains. "I'm okay."

He rolled his eyes, grabbing my hand as he scanned the empty street, "Come on."

We walked a few blocks, his pace quickening with every resonant grumble of my betraying stomach.

"Here we go," he stopped abruptly, still dragging me behind him, causing my chest to slam into his back.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized, "but I've found you food… and music."

I stared at the non-descript entryway; the muted sounds of slow percussion and hypnotic drumbeats leaking out around the breaches in the door.

"And where are we exactly?"

"This, Pretty Girl," he said and my stomach squelched yet again," Is Barramundi."

"What's a Barramundi?"

"Barramundi," he explained, opening the door and nodding to the doorman, "is a very typical example of the 'New' Paris."

I nodded as he pulled me through the throngs of people, the music loud enough that he had to raise his voice though I was no more than a step behind him.

He continued with his explanation, "Fusion, as you can see. East meets South. Part bar, part restaurant, part lounge."

The masses of people began to taper off as he lead me to the far end, a corner against the wall, closest to the point of entry and exit for the bartenders. Magically, a busboy appeared with two stools, placing them directly in front of where we had stopped.

He motioned for me to sit down as I gave him a suspicious look.

"Come here often then?" I asked.

"Yes," he admitted, calling over a bartender with a familiar shout, "but not for the reasons you think."

"Hmm," I mumbled as he handed me a menu, "Sure."

It was only when he poked at my side with our still clasped hands that I noticed I had yet to let go of him.

Sheepishly, I released my death grip and pushed the menu back toward him.

"You choose," I said, my eyes fascinated with the swirling patterns on the bar top.

He frowned for a second, but it disappeared as soon as a waiter appeared at his side. He said something in French that I probably wouldn't have been able to hear, even if the room wasn't throbbing with the heavy bass of the music. He was still staring at the hand that I had just pulled away from his when he spoke.

"Umm," he mumbled, leaning closely into my ear, trying his best not to shout too harshly over the music, though the look on his face seemed like he had something important to say, "I don't bring girls here or anything."

I pulled away, slightly shocked, though, also secretly pleased at the fact that the frown might be because he cared what I thought.

"No," I smiled, leaning into him now, his mouth-watering scent dancing off of the pulse point on his neck, "That's not why I pulled away."

I didn't try to look at his face to gauge his reaction, my own cheeks already feeling flushed at such a bold admission. I wasn't even sure if that was what his change in mood had been about at all. I squirmed- suddenly feeling incredibly inexperienced.

When he didn't move - the two of us suspended in some sort of weird failed attempt at club-intimacy - I felt the need to further justify myself, if only to fill the awkward silence.

"I just figured you'd want your hand back… Or something? For food… Or a drink? Or… I don't know… Something?"

He maneuvered himself so that he could look at me, though I gave him no assistance in moving. I was still stalled in my spot. He looked at me questioningly, his face completely blank. I hoped then that the nervous tension in my voice wasn't as apparent as the blush on my cheeks. I thought then that maybe the darkness was my only ally and I couldn't suppress the urge to turn away. A new beat surged through the air, louder than the one before, and faster. There were fewer lulls in the percussion to allow for any kind of verbal exchange without shouting now. I leaned away from him, the silence between us louder than the pulsing bass line even still. He leaned in toward me, his lips just barely from mine, his eyes still questioning.

He paused, as if to ask my permission silently, the only way to ask considering the noise. It was only a moment, but in that moment, my mind raced into a million directions. If I kissed him - if I let him close this gap - there would be no turning back now; I knew it.

The promise of being marooned in the middle of this vast city with the gorgeous, mysterious man was the stuff that the Wanderlust-set dreamed of. Backpackers all around the world, Jack Kerouac himself, young and old, generations of people – all of them – they would have jumped at the chance to close this last gap, to chase this unknown, to be lost in it.

How many millions of travelers had crisscrossed the world, dream of wandering off the beaten path? How many had come home - mission failed - having seen only the 'authenticity' of the Parisian streets at day, bustling with tourists; 2 for 1 miniature Eiffel Towers being the only souvenirs they took home with them. Defeated.

No, I wanted to live… And somehow I knew that this man could give me exactly that … Paris was made for lovers… And with that touch of his breath caressing my lips I began to believe that maybe- just for this night- he was made for me.

I leaned forward, making the decision for him.

My lips parted the second I touched his. He stiffened at the contact, his breath filling every space in my mouth -- filling every space in my heart. I sighed, my hands suddenly on the sides of his face, my fingers just barely touching the softness of his bronzed hair. He grabbed one of my hands, as our lips fought to take everything from one another, placing my clenched fist over his chest. He released his hold on my hand, drawing me into him with a palm pressed into the small of my back. He wiggled his hand underneath the hem of my shirt; just barely teasing the exposed sliver of skin. At the contact the hand at his chest splayed open and I grasped at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him into me impossibly closer. He moaned again; the other hand that was only just steadying him on the bar, flying to the side of my neck. His tongue was insistent in my mouth, the kiss hot and just delightfully wet. He swept obscure patterns into my lips with his, pausing only when he changed his position, the novelty of the kiss renewing itself again. I wanted to live in his kisses.

The beginnings of desire long gone, I was well on my way to giving myself to him completely. Thankfully- but also abhorrently- a throat cleared from somewhere nearby. I shook my head, ignoring it, and I felt him laugh into my mouth. The throat cleared again and I opened my eyes to see a plate floating in the air toward me. _Had it really been that long?_

I pulled away first, much to his protest, though his eyes were wide as saucers as he tried to gauge my reaction. I may have even seen the beginnings of a faint blush on _his_ cheeks. I smiled, knowing that this time it wasn't I who was embarrassed or bashful. The waiter was embarrassed enough for the both of us though, that much I could surmise from the hasty way he dropped our plates and practically ran away.

I picked up a fork, trying to ignore the incredulous look on his face, and pierced a piece of food that sat in front of me. I kept my eyes trained forward, seeing out of my peripheral vision that his face had just transitioned into shock. I chewed the food- it was delicious whatever it was- trying to prevent the small smile on my lips from bursting into a ridiculous grin.

He watched me eat, only looking away after I picked up a fork and placed it into his hand. He repeated my actions, shoveling some food into his mouth without really looking at it. We ate in silence, the only break in the task coming when he would stop, pause, look at me, shake his head, and return to eating. Throughout the course of that silent meal he repeated the action innumerable times.

Finally, putting down his fork, he spoke.

"I'm done."

I laughed, the absurdity of his self-evident observation diffusing the sexual tension.

"I'm not," I retorted, taking another bite. "Seriously… I don't think you breathed once during that entire meal."

His jaw dropped open, shocked. "How could I have?! With what you just… How you just… How do you expect…"

He stammered around his words and I could only shake my head, pleased that the kiss had affected him in even half the way it had affected me. He allowed me a few more moments of silence. If his thoughts mirrored mine, the sooner we could resume our previous activities, the better.

He ran an errant finger down my shoulder as I ate, leaving delicious goose bumps in his wake. He stopped only when his fingers reached the hand I wasn't using, but he didn't remove it. The most blissful sigh – content – escaped his lips as he turned his head toward the DJ, it was the first time since we had entered the restaurant that I was absolutely sure he wasn't thinking of ways to deliciously torture me.

He laced his fingers through mine, giving them a tight squeeze before his forefinger began to tap a beat into the back of my hand. I smiled at him, though he wasn't looking at me, and leaned into the back of my chair, savoring the most favorite of all my Parisian meals.

In the back of my head, a small niggling voice warned me: _5 more hours._

…………………………………………

**EdwardPOV**

She pushed away from the bar, groaning loud enough that I could hear it over the pounding music.

"Full?" I said into her ear, pulling her into me as I helped her out of her stool.

"Blissfully so," she admitted, squeezing the hand that I had just wrapped around hers.

She beamed at me as I guided us through the crowded room, and if the kisses at the bar hadn't already confirmed it, I would have known that in exactly that moment the course of the evening had changed. This night, this immaculate night, it wasn't fated just to be an adventure. No. This? _This_ was a romance.

She insisted we take the long way, along the Boulevard Haussmann to the Rue de Richelieu.

"I want to see the Jardin des Tuileries at night," she demanded, giving me no chance to disagree let alone argue.

I smirked at the way she was already demanding things of me, the 'please's' and the protests of the night completely spent. It made me happy knowing she felt could ask me anything; better even still that she might have some demands.

"You won't be able to see the colors of the flowers," I warned her. "It'll be too dark."

She squeezed my hand and pulled me forward. I could hear the defiance in her voice as she waved off my comment, "Hmph! I don't care."

I laughed, "Of course you don't."

After she felt me follow her willingly, she stopped leading, falling into step beside me, wrapping her free hand around the arm that still held, steadfastly, onto hers.

"Tell me about your life at home," she said, nicely this time, looking up at me hopefully.

"What do you want to know?" I said, keeping my eyes on the stone walkway in front of us. Someone had to be the responsible one here.

"Tell me about your family."

"My family?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, I have one… Ouch!"

She had pinched the skin on the inside of my arm. Even through the fabric of my shirt, it was slightly painful.

"You know what I mean!"

"I was teasing!"

"Grrr…."

I laughed as she said it, floundering slightly at the idea of wanting to hear the real thing come out of her throat. Blanching at the prospect that maybe, just maybe, she might let me do something to somehow elicit the sound.

"Like I was _going_ to say- before I was so painfully assaulted," I began, brushing off the beginnings of my self-provocation. "I have a family…"

"I got that part," she said merrily, quieting quickly to hear the rest of my story.

"A sister."

"Older or younger?"

"Same."

"What?"

"Same age."

I waited for her to understand, knowing that it would take less than a second. She was irritatingly quick.

"Twins," she said almost immediately, "Fraternal, obviously."

"Very good."

She raised an eyebrow at me, nudging me in the ribs. She didn't like it when I was fake-patronizing, even if I was just teasing.

"What's her name?" she moved on, seeing the smirk on my face.

"Alice."

"What's she like?" she said wistfully.

"Little. Very little. Hair darker than mine. Blue eyes, like my Dad."

"—Yeah," she interrupted, "But what is she like?"

"She's…Alice. I don't know."

"Grr…" she said again.

"Okay, okay… She's... kind. She loves affection, giving and receiving. She likes taking care of people, sometimes irritatingly so, she likes to meddle."

"She appreciates a good shoe. She named our childhood goldfish Louboutin. When he passed he was survived by his wife, Givenchy and their two fish babies, Marni and Lanvin."

She laughed at that and so I continued.

"But she's generous, too. She'd give you the shirt off her back if you asked for it. Hell, she'd probably give it to you even you didn't want it. She's like my Mom in that way, impossibly warm. Almost too innocent. But I guess that's okay, they've got me and my brother and my Dad to look after them."

"Brother?" she interjected.

"Yes, brother."

"Tell me about him."

"Well… What can I say about Emmett?"

"Yes, what _can_ you say about Emmett?"

"He's…. carefree. And big, huge even, but not in a gross way. If that makes sense."

"It does," she agreed.

"He's got a big heart. He's like Alice in that way…"

"Like all three of you," she interjected.

I smiled, "Maybe."

She pulled up our clasped hands and placed a quick kiss on my knuckles, "Not maybe."

"Anyways," I said, lowering our hands and feeling slightly embarrassed. "He's painfully honest. Loyal. Always up for a challenge. He knows exactly what to say to cut the tension in a room; the… comic relief of our family, if you will; the quintessential big brother type."

"They sound great. It's just the three of you?"

"Yeah, just the three of us. And yes, they are… Great, I mean."

I let us fall into silence as a wave of melancholy washed through me. I missed them. Alice had begged me to let the two of them come, but Emmett pulled her aside and explained it to her. I needed this time, he said, to decide what I wanted and to come to terms with whatever decisions I made. I had never discussed it with him, but somehow he knew. He always seemed to know when I needed him to relieve some of the pressure. I think, maybe, he felt guilty that I had always been burdened with the responsibilities of the family.

"Hey…" she said softly, shaking my arm, "Where'd you go?"

I sighed, "I guess I really _do _miss them. But," I paused, looking down at her pointedly," I'm still glad I asked them not to come."

She laughed, "Why did you do that?"

My mind went back to my earlier train of though, "I think I just needed to have time to be with my own head."

"Stress got you down?" she said lightly, trying to pull me from the weight of my thoughts.

"Sometimes," I answered honestly.

"Mmm?" she said wordlessly, and it was all the provocation I needed.

"We start college soon, you know?"

She nodded.

"And I need to decide what's next."

"Well, I thought we just decided that college was next."

"Yes, but even while I'm there, I'll already be starting…"

"Starting what?"

"Starting the grooming process," I frowned.

"That doesn't sound pleasant."

"No," I said quickly, stopping her before she assumed too much. "It's not a bad thing. My parents aren't hard on me, quite the opposite actually, the pedestal may be a little too high."

When she didn't have a comment I continued, "It's just that I know my Dad expects the world of me, you know? He never says it, but I know it's there… The way he brags about me to his colleagues, and parades me around his office whenever I come by. It's like he's holding his own secret procession for the heir-apparent."

"That doesn't bother your brother and sister?"

I shook my head, "Just the opposite actually. I think they're a little relieved. My parents love us all, unconditionally, and that makes me even more scared to fail. To disappoint them. Even if I brought home a pile of dog shit and called it a noble prize, they'd find a way to bronze it and put it next to all the rest of the accolades. They are _those_ kind of parents."

"That's not a bad thing…"

"No, no… Not a bad thing. But sometimes, just sometimes, it is a scary thing."

"You know," I said, unable to stop the brutal honesty of my thoughts, "My parents are very, very busy people… And they've never _once_ missed a T-ball game or piano recital… Have never _no_t been the parents in the front row with the camera…Once, my Dad flew through 9 time zones for 36 hours without sleep, just so that he wouldn't miss Alice's 4th grade Christmas pageant."

"Well that's sweet…"

I laughed uncomfortably, wide-eyed, "Sweet? When she came running off stage, bawling because she forgot her lines, effectively ruining the _entire_ show for the other hundred parents there, do you know what he did?"

She ran her thumb over the back of my hand, "What did he do?"

I stopped, turning to her, "Her bought her a pony and told her that she was the next Meryl Streep."

She laughed out loud, pulling me forward, back on course. Somehow, the sound made things feel lighter.

I shook my head, trying to shake off my own self-doubt, "I just don't want to fail them, you know?"

She stopped us again, rising on her tiptoes, nuzzling the stubble on my chin with her nose.

"I don't think you can," she breathed, hot on my lips, "I think you're already exactly the person they want you to be…"

She pressed a kiss to my lips and quickly, as if it had never happened, she was chattering merrily about the next topic.

Her words rang in my head as I listened to her talk about French architecture.

_I think you're already exactly the person they want you to be…_

As I watched the iridescent ivory of her cheeks flush with excitement, her eyes sparkling with the possibility of now. I knew she was telling me her honest opinion, and somehow… someway…

… I believed her.

"Come on," she said, quickening her pace and pulling me along, her tone teasing, "I want to get there before is closes…"

I laughed and ran right along with her.

…………………………

**A/N: Yes…. Yes I did do the Punnett square combinations in my head. Edward and Emmett are GbMm's and Alice is an Mmbb, just in case you were wondering. I know that Alice is supposed to be brown and Edward is supposed to be green… But I wanted hazel-green and blue. So… there.**

**Read and review? Perhaps then we'll have an end in sight…. A lemony fresh end.**


	3. Part III

Author's Notes:

Special thanks to FearlessNot, Christine30974, and Lalalovely47 for talking through plot and/or beta-ing. This thing could have easily gone off the rails w/o you all. Ficland is kind of fun when other people are involved.

As always, I am both disclaiming and unowning.

.........................................

**EdwardPOV**

I leaned against a post near the entrance of the Opéra Bastille, watching her. I didn't regret letting her go for the first time since we had left the restaurant as she traipsed down the steps in front of me. She was a vision as she glided around, half-dancing, half skipping.

I laughed, as she twirled in front of me, letting the summer night air billow beneath the light fabric of her skirt.

"What?" she said turning to me with a drowsy smile, "Something funny?"

"No," I said sighing lazily, "Just too beautiful of a night, Pretty Girl. I don't think my heart can take it."

I clutched at my chest, and she rewarded my theatrics with a laugh, it was all the reward I thought I ever might need.

She continued with her foray down the steps, her shoes discarded someplace near where I sat.

"So you're a dancer then?" I called to her; she was halfway down the steps already.

I got up, taking the stairs two at a time, watching as her auburn hair picked up the flashes of light from the passing cars filled, no doubt, with the last of the late night revelers. Daybreak was just a few hours away. Tired of being away from her, I ran for the last dozen steps, grabbing at her with desperate hands. She sighed as my lips made their presence on her bare shoulder as I held her from behind, her blouse hanging off of her arm from her careless twirling.

"No," she said breathily as I tried to ignore the frenzied anticipation growing in the pit of my stomach, "not a dancer."

"Quite the opposite," she continued, pulling away from me, leaving my body cold and wanting, "Maybe a klutz, even."

She danced away from me and I followed her, my breathing slow now, measured, sensuous at the sudden freeness of her every unguarded movement. She looked so blissfully happy, so content that I began to believe that maybe she might just like me enough…

_Enough to what?_

I ignored my own question as I reached around her waist with a gentle arm. I pulled her toward me, taking care to encircle her with both arms this time. I wouldn't let her get away. She drew her arms up from the cage of my embrace, curling her fingers around my forearms, rubbing absentmindedly at the slight vein that ran from my wrist and disappeared before my elbow. I leaned over her shoulder, into the curtain of hair hanging loosely aside her face, my chest pressed into her back, surprised at how delightful I found her scent. Sweet and light, feminine… But there was something else that made it perfection… I could smell, just faintly, a little bit of myself. I had been holding her so close to me from the moment that we left the restaurant that it should hardly have been a surprise. Her scent mixed with mine, it was a new favorite…

As were her eyes…

Her legs…

Her touch…

Her lips….

"Well," I said into her ear, "You definitely don't seem klutzy tonight."

"Mmm," she agreed wordlessly, leaning back into my arms, nuzzling into my touch as I reached around to cup her cheek.

"Paris must agree with you," I said, moving my hand to rub the delicate skin just below her ear with the pad of my thumb.

She turned in my arms and placed the softest, sweetest, most briefly intimate kiss on my lips. She trailed a hand down my arm, grabbing the shoes that hung precariously at my fingertips. She slipped them on and placed her hand back in mine, pulling me toward the base of the steps. She let the silence grow as we left the Opéra Bastille behind us, another beautiful memory to add to the night of a million more.

"No," she said finally, swinging our intertwined hands absentmindedly, pulling me up the street, "I just think I feel… different … when I'm with you."

I pulled her into me for another quick kiss, this time on the side of her neck, before letting her lead me back into the promising night.

………………………………

**EdwardPOV**

She stopped suddenly in front of a hedge-lined arcade.

"Where to, General?" I said teasing her for her insistent pulling. She practically dragged me five city blocks.

"Here." She said turning to the deserted tunnel, "Place des Vosges."

"Ahhhh," I said in realization. "I've never been here. It's supposed to be beautiful."

"It is!" she agreed, pulling me into the Plaza, "I pass it every day on my way to my hotel and I just always think… This, _this,_ is way that the new Paris is supposed to look."

"What do you mean?" I asker her with only half of my conviction, I was too obsessed with the way her eyes lit up at the admission.

"I don't know… It's just a perfect piece of heaven in the middle of the bustling city… It's like, if modernity grew and touched every single piece of Paris, it would stop right here… Right at these hedges."

She was right. It was beautiful; a courtyard of perfectly manicured lawns and tan gravel, framed on all sides by red and white bricked houses, uncharacteristic of Paris, but stunning nevertheless. Elaborate fountains and nameless statues dotted the grounds, the high hedges hiding the bottom-floor arcades of the stone-faced buildings that peeked out between the thick, leafy trees.

She let go of my hand and ran ahead of me, stopping only when she turned to motion me forward.

"See?" she said intently, staring at me with fascination in her eyes. "Listen."

I stopped, listening for the faint sounds of music or some sort of inconceivable French soundtrack. I didn't hear anything but the faint sounds of water trickling somewhere in the distance, a fountain no doubt.

"I don't hear anything," I admitted to her, whispering.

She giggled and grabbed my hand again, the two seconds we were apart far too long for both of us. "Exactly!"

She walked us to a hidden corner on the far end of the lawns, almost totally obscured by high hedges on every side, impossible to see in the blackness of the night before dawn. The moment we passed the threshold of the topiary, a boundary between the world of reality and the dream that we were living in; she pushed herself into me, her lips insistently working into mine.

"Make love to me," I heard her whisper, the urgency in her voice shocking me still. I jerked away from her.

"W-what?"

I regretted my sudden action immediately; it could have been interpreted as revulsion though I wanted to guarantee her it was simply, merely shock. Only moments ago she had been tortuously innocent, it was perhaps the only thing that kept my own attraction to her in check.

"Never mind," she said hastily, turning away from me, brushing her skirt down though I had no idea that it had even risen in the first place.

"Wait," I said to her retreating form as she backed away from me, "I'm just… Surprised is all."

In the light of a far off streetlamp, I could see tears pooling in her eyes at her perceived rejection and I was at her side in an instant, begging her not to cry as I pressed her into my chest.

"Don't cry. Please don't cry…"

She pulled away from me, just slightly enough, to look up at me beneath her glistening lashes – just enough to tear at my heart.

"You don't want me?" she asked simply as I wiped at her dry cheek with the pads of my thumbs. The tear had yet to fall yet still it begged me to reassure her.

"No," I said, running a hand through her hair, "Surely you must know it is not that…"

"Then?" she asked defiantly, the change in her tone making me smile.

"I can't do that…Here. Not when we both have to leave in the morning…"

She sniffed petulantly and I kissed the tip of her nose, not wanting to apologize for telling her the truth. I would not make love to here, for our first time, here in this courtyard- Even if it was utterly romantic. No, when we made love it would be in a warm bed, no ticking clocks to sully what was sure to be another perfect moment. I wouldn't do her the injustice of depriving her of anything that I could give her. I knew then, I would give this girl the world, but just not this.

She raised herself on her toes, the tears gone and replaced with something else. Resolve.

"Then kiss me," she demanded breathlessly. "Please… kiss me."

In this private piece of the world, with the desperation in her voice, I knew that rapture on earth could exist. Light and shadow dueled for space on her body, but there was only room for me, my skin on hers. I wanted to close my eyes at the torture of it all, for I knew then that she would be the only one satisfied tonight, but the torture was a small price to pay. She smiled at me shyly, forgiving me for my behavior earlier, and I wanted her impossibly more. I pulled her into me, her body bowing into mine, my hands running from the small of her back to the nape of her neck, my mouth trailing wet kisses down the side of her neck the entire time.

She groaned into me, thrusting her midsection into mine, my body agreeing obviously with the action. I moved to her mouth, kissing her feverishly, trying to hold her up as she collapsed into my arms. I moved us backward, panting by the time my hand, which had only just been resting on the small of her back, touched the wall. She ground her pelvis into me; rhythmic moaning emanating from deep in her throat and the sound forced me to drag my hand from her hair, down her neck, over her breasts, into the waistband of her skirt… I stopped at her panties as her eyelids fluttered closed, a drowsy smile gracing her lips, I had no choice but to take it as her acquiescence.

"Can I?" I asked hesitantly, knowing it was not exactly what she wanted, but it was something to bring us closer, something to fill the void for now… Just for now.

"Yes," she agreed in a strangled gasp, "God, Yes…"

I removed my hand entirely, she protested with a crazed look, but I quieted her with my lips on hers, my hand already traveling up her skirt instead, my fingers running along her thighs, stopping just at the lace of her underwear, between her legs.

She let out the most delightful squeak, squirming pleasantly in my arms as I continued to devour her mouth, wanting to taste, at the very least, this part of her wetness.

She bucked into my hand, as I trailed a finger over the thin barrier of her panties, her wetness already soaking though the cloth. I tore my mouth from hers and I moved to her ear, whispering dirty, sensual words to convey just how desperately I wanted her.

"I want to make you come," I groaned as she nipped at the skin on my neck, "Do you want that? Do you want to come…?"

She writhed and thrashed against me, grabbing my forearm and whimpering as she tried to lead me where she wanted me…

"Say it," I teased her, running a finger between the lips of her pussy, the barrier of her underwear clearly driving her insane.

"Ung… Yes, yes I want you to…"

"Want me to what?" I helped her along, my index finger now resting at her most sensitive peak, perfectly still.

"I want you to make me come… Please!" she begged again and while I wanted to continue playing this game, I still had the unyielding urge to give her everything she desired.

I hooked my finger through the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down, still holding her tightly against me with my other arm. She attempted to help as she wriggled them down to the middle of her thighs, but I scolded her, nuzzling at her ear.

"Stay still… You asked for this…."

She channeled her frustration into her ministrations at my neck, her open-mouthed kisses turning into frenetic moaning at my throat. I parted her in my hand, feeling the wetness that had pooled there, yet not wanting to penetrate her. No that, along with the lovemaking, that was for another night…

I gathered the wetness on the tip of my finger, drawing it up and down the lips of her pussy, slowing just as I reached the base of her clit. If I thought her pace before was frenzied, it was nothing compared to the panting intake of her breath now. She placed her forehead on my shoulder, staring at my hand, stilled between her legs. She moaned, out of pleasure or frustration I had no idea, and I wondered briefly if she might need a moment to collect herself. For all the running we had done this evening, I had never seen her so short of breath.

"Are you oka--?"

The question died on my lips as she launched herself at me, her deep kisses making me the one suddenly out of air. It was only as I felt her wetness brush at my fingertips, her thrusting attempts to give herself what I had been denying her thus far, that I realized where I was and what I was in the middle of doing.

"Tsk.. tsk," I tutted at her, pulling my hand out of her reach, "What did I tell you about staying still?"

"Fine!" she practically yelled, making me worry for the first time about our compromised position. I looked around, the night still as serene and deserted as it had been when we arrived and I looked back into her eyes, satisfied at our privacy.

I turned back to her, her eyes questioning at the slightly menacing look of my smirk. I looked between us, and her eyes followed, my hand lingering dangerously close to her middle.

"What do you want me to do to you?" I rasped into her open mouth, kissing her deeply before I let myself concentrate completely on the task at hand, "Tell me."

She bit at me, pulling at my lip, trying to tell me without words that she was tired of waiting, but I wouldn't let her go so easily. No, if she thought this would be quick, she was wrong.

"Tell me," I said, brushing my finger against her bundle of nerve endings just once, causing her to reward me with a new sound, a cry of desperation, nearly a sob.

"Touch me," she begged.

"How?" I hummed into her open mouth, my tongue punctuating the question with a sweep across her bottom lip.

"My clit," she gasped without air, grabbing my hand and forcing it forward, "There. Please, touch me there…"

I touched my finger experimentally against her clit, her body breaking into goosebumps everywhere else. Rubbing the wetness I had gathered first in circles, then in short flicking movements, I tried to discern which she liked best. Though the constant barrage of moaning and sighing led me to believe that she liked both, though I thought to ask her for confirmation, if only to torture her just a little.

"I wonder," I said aloud, wanting to draw this out to make it as good as possible for her," What you like better…"

"This," I said, rubbing at her bud with my thumb in flicking upward motions.

"Or this," I shifted my position to sweep in circular patterns, just lightly enough with feathery touches, on the tip of her clit.

Her knees buckled beneath her and I easily drew her up again, back into my chest.

"Hmmm?" I breathed into her ear, "Which one is it?"

"Both! Ah!" she yelped, trying to squirm away from my hand.

I laughed, alternating between the movements, "Then why are you trying to get away?"

"T---too," she gasped, "Too good. Unnngh…"

I smiled at her admission, exuberant that I was able to pleasure her, and tightened my grasp around her, making it impossible for her to wiggle away. I rubbed and flicked at her, continuing my dirty talk in her ear, the way she nipped and bit at my neck the only confirmation that she liked what I was saying, it was particularly daring.

She tensed in my arms, her breathing a pattern of staccato rhythms, her hands grabbing tightly into the fabric on my back.

"Are you going to come, Pretty girl?"

I could hardly expect a verbal answer, not the way she could barely breathe, let alone stand on her own. I pinched her clit softly, rolling in between my fingers, loving the way that her wetness seemed only to increase despite the way I played her in my hands. I was supporting nearly all of her weight against the wall. I loved the fact that I could make her this way.

"Y-y-y…"

Her breathing stopped entirely as she went rigid in my arms, her pussy shaking and pulsing in my hand. She trembled as if she had just come in from the snow… Once… Twice… Three times she quivered without a breath… And suddenly, she was gasping, her eyes fluttering open though they had been clenched shut just seconds ago. I held her there, not caring if it took her one moment or one hour to regain her strength, I was so perfectly happy, just like that. She pushed away from me softly, her hands on my chest, her feet trying to find steady footing on the ground.

After staring into my eyes with an adoration that made me want to make her come all over again, she bit her lip bashfully; the blush of her cheeks flaring up in the light of the beginnings of the rising dawn. I looked around, suddenly aware of the fact that sometime during the course of our tryst, the sun had graced us with its presence, though second only to her beauty, still mussed and slightly crazed with the aftermath of her orgasm.

She ran her hand down to the waistband of my pants as I silently rebuked the scolding sun. I stopped her, pulling her hand up between us, my eyes never leaving hers as I made no attempt to shield the reverence in them. I kissed into the palm of her hand.

"No…" I said simply.

"But I want to..." she protested.

I shook my head, "No. Tonight, just tonight, it's all for you. I want to give you…"

I stopped myself, not sure of how to finish the sentence, not sure of how to ask her for what I so ardently desired. I was already leading her back out into the cool Paris air for our next adventure before she could protest again; before she could ask me to finish my sentence, but not before I caught a glimpse – just the smallest glimpse—of her crestfallen face.

……………………………………

We found ourselves quietly making our way back to the Rue du Faubourg St. Antoine, the same place where this crazy-beautiful night began. The streets were bathed in the baptism of the new light - a new day – a new beginning. We stepped around the shopkeepers opening their windows and doors, the streets still wet from the pre-dawn cleanings, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. It was as if the night had never come, as if the past 10 hours were a dream. If it weren't for the fact that she was pressed into my side, tucked under my arm, her hand bunching the fabric at my waist I might have believed it _was_ all a dream. But it wasn't… It was an impossible reality, a reality that I never wanted to change.

She yawned, burrowing into my side, the crispness of the morning air ushering with it the lightest breeze.

"Tired?" I asked her, "You need sleep."

She exhaled wordlessly, though her body seemed to agree in the way she inched even further into my tight embrace.

"Coffee," she said finally, pulling me into the direction of a patisserie, "I need coffee."

"Your wish is my command," I admitted playfully, pulling open the door.

She smiled at me as she passed, pausing for a moment to stand on her tip toes to give me the small kisses I had come to love just as much as the fiery, passionate ones. She skipped to a table near the front, adjacent to the window, and gave me a hopeful look after a pointed stare at the freshly baked pastries displayed at the counter.

"Broke ass," I teased her, shaking my head.

She stuck out her bottom lip, placing her hands under her chin playing the begging pup.

"Fine," I pretended to cave, playing her game, she was just too adorable. "What do you want?"

"Une baguette, s'il vous plaît, avec du beurre… Et confiture."

Her French accent wasn't bad I thought as I turned to the baker behind the counter, repeating her order. Maybe she knew the language better than I had assumed. _Maybe we can just stay in Paris…Forever._

I made my way back to the window, smiling at the way she was resting her head on her folded arms, collapsed over the table, her eyes wide open as she watched me balance my food and hers in my arms.

"No, no, don't worry. I've got it."

She lifted her head from the table, grinning, as she stretched her hands toward me, opening and closing her fists and grasping at the air as if it would make me quicken my pace. She should have known by now, I liked to tease her.

I placed my espresso and croissant out of her reach, not sitting down, her café au lait and baguette still in my hands. I bent over her, holding her much-desired food behind my back.

"A kiss first," I requested, making sure to keep the food out of her reach.

She reached up to my face, cupping my cheeks with both her hands, brushing the softest kiss against my lips. _Who was teasing whom now?_

I shook my head, knowing that this was the beginning of the end, my desire to please her easily outweighing my desire to keep anything from her. I took my place across from her, reminding myself it would only be a matter of moments before I could have her in my arms again. I was already hopelessly addicted. I sat, transfixed, as she ripped off a piece of baguette, taking great care to spread on the thinnest layer of butter, then heaping on a dollop of jam. I smiled, watching her sigh and chew merrily. _So she did have indulgences then…_

"You're not hungry?" she said swallowing, eyeing the untouched pastry in front of me.

"No, I'm starving… I just like watching you."

She beamed at me, but just as soon as the smile reached her eyes, she frowned, her eyes filling with water.

"What?" I asked panicked, coming to her side.

"Tears again? What did I do this time?" I tried teasing her, to lighten the mood. "I'll eat every pastry in here if it'll keep you from crying…"

She laughed, a few tears spilling over the rim of her lashes, tumbling slowly down her cheek. I brushed them away with the back of my hand, leaving kisses in my wake, her cheeks still damp. She laughed again, pushing me away.

"I'm sorry," she said sniffling after I took my seat, "I don't usually cry this much."

"You don't have to apologize, Pretty Girl, just tell me what's wrong… What's making you so sad?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but a she fought to choke back a sob instead, the tears coming back with a renewed fervor. I didn't get up this time; I reached across the table grabbing her hands away from her face as she tried to hide herself from me.

"Tell me," I urged her, needing to know exactly what was wrong so that I could fix it.

"I—I just," she cried, her hands still clasped in mine atop the table, though she tried to turn away from me, " I just don't know how to say goodbye to you…"

I let go of her hands. I wasn't sure what to say. I wanted to yell at her, _You insane, infuriating, bewitching girl, I never want to be without you…! Don't ever say goodbye, I beg you, don't ever leave…!_

I wanted to say all of those things but with the tears falling down her cheeks, dripping onto the table top, the raw agony in her eyes, her quivering bottom lip… All of it, in confluence, it all but broke my heart.

"Then don't…" I whispered to her hoping desperately. "Then don't say goodbye."

"I don't want to," she whispered back, each hitch in her breath stabbing at my heart.

"Then don't," I begged her again, pulling her hand to my face and brushing her fingertips against my lips, memorizing her touch, "You don't ever have to say goodbye to me."

She pulled her hands from mine, sobbing into her palms at my request, the telltale signs of my own overwhelming emotion pulling at the insides of my throat. I bit my lip to keep it from shaking, imploring my body for just another moment of composure. I knew that now was the time to ask her, coward that I was, that in her state of weakness maybe, just maybe, she would accept, but I couldn't speak. I could barely think with her crying this way. It was impossible, but I knew it was true. After just 10 hours with her, her pain was mine and I couldn't take seeing her so sad. I – we- needed to calm down. Just for a moment, just long enough for me to plead with her to stay.

"I'll get you a tissue," I said, needing a moment to collect myself and wanting to soothe her in some small way, "And when I come back… No more tears. Promise?"

She swiped at her cheeks, worrying her bottom lip and trying to still her breath, nodding at my words. She looked the way I felt, probably sure that if she spoke her voice would betray her the way her tears already had. I smiled at her one more time, memorizing the tiniest freckle just above her lip, the first time I had seen it, and I thanked the morning sun. It was already giving me the gifts that the moon could not; maybe it would give me just this last one…

Bypassing the rough paper napkins sitting on the counter- her skin was too delicate to for those things- I pushed my way into the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, taking the time to collect myself. I splashed some water onto my face, preparing myself for the possibility of her refusal; I couldn't be too confident. But I hoped, no I wished, that she would accept my offer. I didn't quite know what to say, or how to say it.

_I barely know you, but I already know that love you. I know that it's impossible, that we only just met, but I think I knew it the moment I saw you. Love at first sight? I could hardly think it before. But now? Now I am sure, now I live it, __**you**__ are it. Run away with me, come with me, I'll run with you… Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. All I want in return is your heart… I swear to you, I cross the heart that is yours alone, I will protect everything of you until my last breath…_

I looked myself in the mirror, unembarrassed at the grandness of the words I couldn't help but say in my head. I had always loathed the clichéd, the 'until the end of time' soliloquies that the male lead in Jane Austen novels proclaimed; pitied the poor sods who fell in love with the girl who walked into the room in slow motion, but suddenly I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them all, my compatriots in love. Suddenly, I felt sorry for us… For loving this way was limitless… Insane…. Reckless.

I hesitated a second longer, preparing myself to go back to her, grabbing a tissue from the Kleenex box sitting on the counter, but a graffitied scrawl across the top of the mirror stopped me. In English, the prophetic words gave me a new hope:

"Sometimes, in love, fate works alone."

I smiled; A new calm coursing through me. It was a sign, I thought to myself. We would be fine. Even if she didn't run away with me, even if what happened next wasn't perfect, we would be fine. We would find a way; I believed she cared for me enough that we would find a way.

I walked back to the front of the store, the two small tables in the window being the only seating for customers in the entire place. I plastered a smile on my face, not wanting even a single tear to be shed. As far as I was concerned the tears that had already fallen were a lifetime's worth. I wouldn't let her hurt anymore, not over me.

The table was empty. I noticed it right away, our steaming drinks abandoned where we sat. I looked around, maybe she passed me on her way to the bathroom; I was so lost in my own thoughts that it was possible. I turned around, the door still ajar from when I had departed. The bathroom was empty. The usually steady beat of my pulse went into eighth-notes as I searched wildly around the small shop, continuing on into sixteenths as I ran out onto the sidewalk, crumpling and stopping entirely as I realized that she was gone.

I opened my mouth to call for her, hoping that maybe she was just beyond the corner. Another thing had caught her attention and her mood changed and suddenly she wasn't sad, but curious, the way that had happened all night. She had run off again, just like before, and it was only a matter of time before she came back… I would see her in just another second, standing across the street beckoning me forward, waiting for me to follow her.

I closed my eyes, hoping that last hope, a night full of hopes all in one. Yet before I opened my eyes, I knew, I was agonizingly certain, that she wouldn't be there. She wouldn't be waiting for me at the corner. She wouldn't be holding out her hand for me to take. She wouldn't be reaching for me on her tip toes, ready for a kiss. No, I would open my eyes and my heart would be just as it was: irrevocably, completely, absolutely gone. She had taken it with her… Wherever she was…

I didn't know what to do. There were too many streets to run through now, when just hours ago there weren't enough. Suddenly I hated the thing I had only just loved, the winding mazes of the arrondisement making it impossible to find her. I wished for courtyard in front of the Centre George Pompidou, open and vast… I wished for the galleries inside the museum, minimalist and brightly lit… I wished for the empty banks of the Seine, the Eiffel Tower looming far in the distance, our only companion…. The Place de la Concorde and its gilded fountains, the back corner at Barramundi, her pressed in beside me. I only had to reach out to touch her…. The steps of the Opéra Bastille, the Elysium of the Place des Vosges … I wished for it all. I wished and I wished and I wished once more… But the world was too full of empty promises… So I took them all back and wished for one more –a lifetime outside of Paris, before her, before this heartbreak. That was the only wish I had left now.

I looked back to the patisserie, the place that had only just been the birthplace of so many dreams, just before taking the first step to my hotel. But that first step was impossible, that first step would be the last.

_Paris has nothing left for you now. _

"Attendez! Attendez, Monsieur!"

The baker from behind the counter was running toward me, coming out of the shop.

"Monsieur," he said again, grabbing my shoulder and catching his breath.

"Comment?" I asked, trying not to be cross, how could he know of my pain?

"Isabella, Monsieur. Elle s'appelle… Elle m'a demandée…"

He shook his head at my flabbergasted stare, misinterpreting my shock for confusion.

"Zee girl," he said in an accent more French than English," 'er name… C'est Isabella. She ask me to tell you…. Bella. Zey call 'er Bella."

He patted my shoulder, satisfied that I had understood him. He gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving me to my grief. He knew, as all good Parisians did, the look of love lost.

My vision went blurry as I watched him disappear back into the store. In my chest, the pieces of my heart that I was so sure had left with her fractured painfully, signaling to me that it was not gone. No, I wasn't given even this small justice. I lowered myself onto the sidewalk, collapsing. Hanging my head between my knees, my hair bunching under my clawing hands, I tried immediately to forget her, hoping that maybe that would make it just faintly less painful, just bearable enough.

As my body trembled, the tears not coming, I knew that it would not, could not be enough. Forgetting her would be impossible. I gave up to the moment of weakness that had been threatening to overwhelm me, telling myself that I would allow this if it meant I could leave it all behind. As the moving figures and the passing cars turned to watercolor paintings in my eyes, I hugged my arms closer to my body chanting in my head as the Parisian streets came alive with the new day: _She didn't ever exist… She didn't ever exist… She didn't ever exist…_

……………………………

**BellaPOV**

I reached the airport with just barely enough time to make my flight, though I had no idea how I arrived. I had not stopped crying, bawling, from the moment I left the patisserie until well after I left the hotel. I didn't know – didn't care – whether or not I had all of my belongings as I managed to choke out "De Gaulle" to the driver. He must have thought I was past bereft, perhaps insane, when he asked me if I was alright. It only made me cry harder, only made me think of him…

And suddenly, I was here, standing at my gate. My boarding pass clenched in my hand.

I looked at the digital screen above the door leading to the plane that would, no doubt, be my prison of him. Ten hours. Ten hours to grieve for him, for us… But I knew, I already was certain, that it didn't matter if it was ten hours, or ten years, or a lifetime… I would grieve for him forever.

My near hysteria in the aftermath of leaving him had morphed into something else, the thing I was feeling now, an odd sense of detachment. Not a calm, but an immovable stillness; A silent desperation to contrast the consummate panic. I stumbled to a seat and the relief from holding myself upright broke the tether of my lifelessness. I cried into my hands, inconsolable and at the same time violently angry.

**He** was the one that would only promise me one night in the Place des Vosges.

**He **was the one that forced me to leave the way I did, without a goodbye.

**He **was the one who refused to live outside of the world we had created for ourselves; I didn't even know his name!

At the thought of his face I gasped for breath, sobbing now, for I knew that even in my dreams I would not know what to call him… Even in my dreams I wouldn't know how to beg him to stay.

A stewardess appeared at my side," Are you going to Seattle, Miss?"

"Y-y-yes," I stammered.

She grabbed my carry-on bag and gave me a kind smile, taking my hand and pulling me up. She seemed to know that I did not have the strength to do it on my on. She knew, as all good stewardesses did, the telltale signs of love lost.

"I'll watch your bag. Your gate closes in 15 minutes. Take a moment in the bathroom; maybe have a sip of water? It'll help your nerves. You won't be able to get up for a while once you get on the plane."

"T-thank you," I said, walking blindly into a direction that might have had a restroom. I found one nearby, just across the terminal.

I collapsed again before I could reach the door, into a row of seats in the waiting area adjacent. My sobbing renewed, I barely heard the last call for a flight to Boston as people mulled around me. I tried to drown out their voices as they passed, some of them wondering idly if they should approach me. I hated them, all of them, for their charity. What could they do for me? Console me? Help me? How?! I knew there was only one person who could heal me now, and he was long lost.

"Last call for Boston, Massachusetts. Logan International Airport. Last call."

I drew up my knees, wrapping my arms around my ears, shutting out the offending noise. I only wanted to listen to the sound of my breaking heart. At least then, only then, I could be sure he existed.

Strong arms wrapped around me suddenly, warm lips at my ear.

"Isabella…"

I looked up, the sobs dying in my throat…. Into hazel-green eyes.

…………………………**..**

**A/N: **_**Sigh, I love love. Even love like this, the kind that trails into a question.**_

**Thank you for taking the time to read this thing… I'm seriously still embarrassed that I had the nerve (the unmitigated gall!) to post it (the lemon scene in particular). **

**Read and review? It'll validate my decision to ignore my life for two days.**

Also, it must be mentioned that the end of this story is dedicated to Ms. ScarlettLetters. Why? Well I think the following quotes explain it all:

SL:I made you read that damn book

I told you you would get sucked into fic

SL: I'M YOUR FUCKING SIRE!!!!

And… She is. Haha.


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